


Tremor

by DollopheadedMerlin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Epilepsy, Fits, Gen, Seizures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 03:51:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10677108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollopheadedMerlin/pseuds/DollopheadedMerlin
Summary: There is a strange cause behind Merlin's sudden seizures.





	Tremor

He’d just collapsed one day, out of nowhere, as if Camelot couldn’t last more than a few days without _something_ going awry. Things had been quite tame for the past week or so, actually. Someone should have known better than to think the peace would last for long.

The king had stepped out from behind his changing screen upon hearing a resounding _clang!_ To find his servant leaning heavily on the table, his own breakfast scattered across the floor.

“Merlin, what—?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, pushing himself off the table. For a moment, Arthur truly thought it was just his servant’s regular clumsiness, him having tripped over his own feet and managed to save himself with only the sacrifice of the king’s breakfast. But, he stumbled and his eyes rolled back into his head, his body bending back as if to keep up with the swift motion of his pupils, until he was on the floor in a puddle of spilt water.

He twitched in his slumber, eyelids fluttering and body fidgeting as if he were a nervous child, anxious of waking up. Gaius arrived, bones creaking as he knelt down and took his pulse, checked his breathing. Upon instruction, Arthur hefted him into the air, holding him loosely as he was told, to carry him back to his chambers for rest. The boy awoke in his arms, whilst being carried up a flight a stairs. Arthur paused, leaning against the wall, Gaius coming close. Merlin stared at them as though they were strangers, looked at the walls as if they were growing out and away from him to unimaginable heights.

An hour passed before he came back to himself, Gaius giving him water, Arthur giving him company. The old physician told them it was a fluke, a fit of sorts caused by too much stress, lack of sleep, perhaps a knock on the head.

Merlin was given a day of rest.

They thought nothing more of it.

 

They went on a hunting trip a week later. The game was grand and their aim was lucky. Merlin was half asleep on his horse, only lifting his head when called upon to fetch the body of a deer or the meat of a pheasant. He was perched upon his mare when he was once again summoned, only he found himself unable to follow orders.

“Merlin!” Arthur had shouted. “I said to get that deer!”

Merlin spared him a glance, brow furrowed, then looked confusedly around at the forest.

“Merlin?” Elyan questioned, pulling his horse up next to his. The servant didn’t seem to hear.

“Oh! Would you stop daydreaming and go get that buck!”

He began to breathe heavily.

“Arthur, I think—”

“Merlin, you buffoon!”

He began to tremble.

“Has your brain stopped working?”

His eyes rolled back into his head.

Arthur’s went wide.

As Merlin fell from his saddle, Arthur jumped from his, racing over to where Merlin was shaking on the forest floor. Elyan, Percival, Leon, and Gwaine all followed, swarming around their friend as he grunted and twitched on the ground. Spit dribbled out of the corners of his mouth. His throat tensed up. Gwaine tried to lift him off the ground.

“Don’t!” Arthur commanded. “Leave him! On his side!”

They laid Merlin down and Arthur held his men at bay as they watched him have a fit, muscles contracting and quivering, veins showing through his hands and neck.

Gradually, the fit ended, and he lay moaning in a pile of leaves, damp with his own saliva, eyes unfocused and body afraid to move.

“Give him space,” Arthur told them. When he received questioning looks, he explained that “this happened before. Once. Though it wasn’t this bad . . .”

Though still disoriented, Arthur managed to mount Merlin in front of him on his horse. Throughout the journey home, the boy watched the trees as if they were dancing. He’d touch Arthur’s arm or pressed his back up against his chest. He might have reached feebly for the reigns. He’d clutched the hairs of the horse's mane in his fist. When they arrived home, he could stand, he could walk, but he had to be guided back to his chambers. There, Gaius thinks he might have been wrong.

 

Everyone seemed to hold their breath around Merlin after that. When he’d be daydreaming he might find someone watching him. When he’d pause in thought, all who were listening would listen closer, hoping his next word wasn’t a groan that started off his next fit.

Later, during a council meeting, Merlin appeared to lean into a pillar, the day’s exhaustions catching up to him, so much so that he forgets about propriety. Percival was the first to question him, watching him carefully as a lord continued on about taxes and serfs and things. He stood abruptly and crossed the room. Lords and ladies and councilmen sneered at his interruption. Arthur, his queen, and the knights all followed him, too noticing the way Merlin began to bang his head against the hard stone behind him.

Once the throne room was cleared, Gaius came forth, placing a pillow beneath his ward’s head and measuring the length of the fit. Merlin was getting worse. He spasmed and punched the floor, kicked out at his legs, all of his limbs held out at odd angles. His eyes kept blinking hard and fast. His lips kept curling into a snarl, then falling into a frown.

Merlin broke his arm from hitting the pillar with more force than he could have ever mustered whilst coherent. Gaius dressed the fracture, then addressed the issue at hand. They spoke well into the afternoon, Gaius preparing Merlin for the possibility of more fits to come, preparing Arthur on being able to deal with them. The air was thick as they talked. Merlin felt as though it were crowded in his small room, another man sitting with them. The threat of another fit seemed to be perched at the end of his bed, barely able to refrain from reaching out and taking him again.

Gaius prescribed a medicine, one that would keep Merlin from have such intense fits.

It didn’t work.

He continued to collapse, sliding out of chairs, dropping to the floor during meetings and feasts, staggering with his load until he toppled, sending armor or food or linens flying out in front of him. His arm healed slightly crooked, him having disturbed the mending bones too often by crashing to the ground or whacking his loose fists into whatever stood in their path. Soon, George began to take over some of his duties. He never carried anything heavy, never handled hot water or sharp weapons, never did much of anything without company.

 

Gaius returned from his rounds one day to find Merlin’s half eaten stew sitting stale on the bench. He sighed, swearing that the boy left a trail everywhere, as he went to collect it for cleaning. When he approached the table, however, a blue-faced Merlin came into view on the other side.

He was lying on his back, frothing at the mouth, his legs tangled up in the seat of the bench. His face was saturated with angry colors, his eyes twitching as he made small noises, struggling to breathe.

“Merlin!” Gaius gasped, falling to his knees. He lifted Merlin up the best he could and laid him back down on his side. When the boy did not naturally cough up the blockage, he began to anxiously rub his back and pat at his face, trying to draw him out of his delirium so that he might be able to dislodge his throat on his own.

When Merlin showed no sign of responding, Gaius desperately stuck his hand into Merlin’s mouth, groping around until he’d found what he needed. Merlin gagged, blood and bile spurting out as the physician removed his hand. The boy vomited, left gasping and coughing on the floor, eyes still blinking wildly against the delusions.

 

Merlin stopped eating after that. Gaius would have to sit him down and watch him finish his breakfast in order to be sure any food got into him. He was afraid, however, that he would have a fit while eating again, too unaware to prevent himself from choking to death. He pictured someone finding him, dead in a puddle of his own puke. It would be a humiliating way to go, he thought. The idea frightened him gravely.

Gaius sat Merlin down a few days later, isolated in the boy’s room, where they talked and speculated on why exactly this was happening to him.

“Merlin, we know these aren’t ordinary fits.”

He looked away in shame.

“The remedies I’ve given you have no effect. You’re not triggered by lights or noises as most of these things are. Oh! You’ll be right as rain all through a lightning storm and the next day it’ll be calm and sunny but you’ll be writhing on the floor!”

“Gaius, I know . . .”

“I think we both know what’s causing these fits.”

Merlin bowed his head.

“Merlin . . .”

He refused to answer.

“I think you should tell him.”

Merlin sobbed. “I can’t.”

“Merlin, these fits very well may kill you!”

The boy looked up, his eyes shining vibrantly. “I can’t,” he wept. “I don’t know how . . .”

 

Merlin’s magic continued to get stronger and he had fits more and more often that were more and more intense. He would stumble into Arthur’s chambers each morning, thinner than he should be and with dark bruises under his eyes. He’d pull open the curtains and nudge the king awake, half asleep himself. Then, as Arthur pulled himself from slumber, he would gather Arthur’s clothes, hang them over the screen, make the bed, and wait for George to arrive with breakfast. He wasn’t allowed to do much else. He couldn’t even tend to the fire or sort Arthur’s papers. It was insulting, slightly. He’d always used to organize the king’s desk, sometimes catching an error or making suggestions on speeches and helping Arthur go over things, but now he was not allowed to touch them. There were too many important documents. The kingdom couldn’t risk a torn scroll or spilt ink just for the advice of a lowly servant.

George strode in, a fruitful breakfast on his tray. He prepared the table, started the fire, and waited before Arthur for further instruction. With hands behind his back and his nose high in the air, he stared past the king to look at his other servant. Merlin pointedly looked away from him. Most people stared at him, wondering if he was going to drop to the floor at any moment, hoping maybe they’d get a chance to _see_ him flounder on the floor like a fish out of water, gasping for breath. He found it was easiest just to ignore everyone’s morbid fascinations.

“You are dismissed for now, George,” the king said, noticing the way he ogled at Merlin. “I won't be needing you until around midday, for a late training session with my knights.”

“Of course, sire,” George said, bowing so low that his hair could have shined his boots. He took one last glance at Merlin before he turned and left, the door shutting with a click.

“Sit down,” Arthur said, not bothering to turn to Merlin from where he was seated at the table.

“Why?”

“Because I said to.”

Merlin sighed and took the seat opposite his king. He sat hunched over somewhat, shaking slightly.

“Eat.”

“No.”

“Merlin, eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Arthur let out a humourless laugh. “You didn’t eat breakfast, did you?”

Merlin looked away.

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Then eat. There’s soup, porridge.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Merlin, honestly. It’s rather difficult to choke on soup.”

“No when you’re in the throes of a seizure.”

That shut Arthur up. Merlin stared at him as he cleared his throat and began to pick at his food. Moments passed in silence before Arthur spoke again.

“You really need to eat, Merlin,” he said sincerely.

“I know.”

“Then why don’t you? I’m here, I know what to do if anything goes wrong.”

Too much of a coward to admit that he was scared, Merlin looked away again.

Arthur sighed. “Has Gaius found anything that will help any?”

“No.”

“Have you?”

Merlin scoffed. “No.”

“Merlin . . .”

He looked back up at his king, eyes round and sad.

“How are you? How . . . is there anything that--”

“Arthur . . . I’m fine.”

“No, Merlin, you’re not.”

“I’m as fine as I can be.”

“I saw what just happened between you and George.”

“It happens with everyone. I’m used to it.”

“No, you hate it.”

“I hate it, but I’m used to it.”

They fell into silence again, Merlin awkwardly watching Arthur eat.

“How was your outing with Gwaine last night?”

“I . . . I left early.”

“What? Why?”

“No reason.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Tell me why you left.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I’m the king, Merlin.” Arthur said sternly. “Everything is my business.”

Merlin’s face was suddenly rather red and his eyes went dark. “Fine,” he said bitterly, as his chair scraped away from the table. He stood. “I _left_ because someone brought in an _exorcist_ and everyone in the bar was trying to tie me down whilst he shouted on about devils and demons. Gwaine and Elyan had to fight through the crowd to get me home.” He was pacing before Arthur, shaking and overwhelmed. “People think that I’m _possessed_ , Arthur! They think I’m something evil and deranged! I’m a dark beast to them! I’m a monster!”

“Stop!” Arthur said, standing suddenly. “You are no such thing, Merlin! You know that!”

Merlin huffed, falling back into his chair. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

  


No matter who Merlin was with, nothing ever seemed normal. It was like he was the troublesome child with good intentions -- look away from him for one minute and he’d follow a butterfly off of a cliff. There was always a presence of caution in the room and no one ever wanted to meet Merlin’s eyes in fear that he might notice their apprehension.

Soon, he was having fits every other day, leaving him so utterly exhausted that he barely ever found the energy to get out of bed, let alone lug himself up to Arthur’s rooms.

His bed stank of sweat and spit for he was never well for long enough to have anyone wash the sheets. His room was musty and the air inside was thick. He was becoming claustrophobic and would so willingly jump right up and out of bed to even muck out the stables if only he could do so without writhing around in hay and manure.

A boy tried to break in one day. He snuck in at night with a wood axe and made it all the way to the back room. Merlin had had a rather impressive fit an hour beforehand and was still in a slight daze when the boy came up to the side of his bed. Merlin stared at the boy, watching as the axe was lifted high into the air. Then, just as the bitt caught in the moonlight, Merlin found his senses and sent the kid flying across the room with a flash of his eyes. It was like a sudden, suffocating weight had been lifted from his chest when it happened, so much so that it left him in a haze, a blissful contrast to the confusion he would feel after a fit. He could breathe easier. The colors of the world seemed brighter, saturating his skin and making everything glow.

He didn’t notice Gaius burst in, didn’t see him check the boy’s pulse. He didn’t feel him trying to gain his attention or hear his voice as he asked what happened. All he heard was an ongoing hum, like a lovely song, sung in soothing alto.

He did notice, however, when Arthur was summoned, was here, was watching, coming closer, and Merlin had to hide again. He drew his magic back in, tugging at its reigns like a rider on an unwillful horse. He took it all back inside of him, condensed it and hid it away somewhere where he could feel it stirring in his core.

Then, he saw Arthur, whose face was full of worry and panic. He saw a guard taking the boy from the room. He saw Gaius hovering close by. He blinked, feeling his chest tighten with the pain of it all, his magic throbbing within his ribs and pulsating through his very being. He met Arthur’s eyes, scared and realizing how terribly right Gaius was about all of this, how wrong it felt to hold all that he was at bay. He needed to right things, to save things. He opened his mouth to let loose his woes.

Then he began to seize.

 

When Merlin woke up, it was to a pounding head and a damp pillow. He made to take a deep breath but found that his mouth was full of spit and grime. He coughed it up, hacking and panting until his throat was clear. Eyes watering and arms weak and trembling, he pushed himself up.

The door opened and Gaius turned his head but made no movement to help Merlin hobble down the stairs.

“You nearly died,” he stated, instead, staring.

“I need to--I need to--” Merlin stammered, leaning heavily against the wall.

“You need to end this.”

“I did!” Merlin gasped. “I tried! Gaius--Arthur!”

“He’s in his chambers. Merlin, he needs to know. This needs to stop. You’ll die if you keep this up.”

“I know, Gaius. I felt it--Last night, I felt it. I used my magic and it all went away, for just a moment.”

“There’s too much power inside of you to keep it concealed like this. You need to let it out, Merlin. It needs to be vented and, if you wont let it, it will just continue to force it’s way through you until it tears you to shreds.”

Merlin stopped, leaning on the table, and swallowed. “I need to tell him, now, Gaius. Where is he?”

“His chambers. I already told you.”

“I’m going.”

“I’m taking you.”

“What?”

“You can barely stand,” Gaius pointed out. “You’ve been unconscious for a day and a half. That last fit nearly killed you, Merlin. You weren’t breathing for a period. You hit your head . . . I’m not letting you go anywhere unaccompanied. I shouldn’t be letting you go anywhere at all.”

“Okay.”

“You should wash up first.”

“No, now.” Merlin stepped away from the table, nearly toppling over onto the floor, his heart pounding in his chest. “I can’t wait, Gaius. I _need_ to tell him--tell him everything.”

“Alright,” the old man sighed. He stood and had Merlin take his arm to steady himself. “Alright.”

 

Arthur didn’t look up when Merlin entered. He was sitting by the fire, his head in his hands, thinking. “What is it?” he asked, voice muffled.

He heard the shuffling of feet and the sound of nervous fidgeting.

“What--” he began, but he looked up, saw who was standing before him. “Merlin,” he breathed. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk with you,” Merlin stated, cursing his thin, shaking legs and his strained, wavering voice. “It’s important.”

“You could have sent for me. You didn’t have to walk all this way. You could have hurt yourself,” the king said as he stood and guided Merlin into a chair by the hearth.

“Gaius walked me,” Merlin excused. “I’m fine.”

“Rubbish.”

Merlin smiled but his magic twisted into a tight knot, Arthur being so close and seeming so big in comparison. It wanted to hide, to stay away from the king, but Merlin couldn’t let it, not anymore.

“What is it you wanted to say?” Arthur asked, wanting to break the dreadful silence.

“I . . .” His magic screamed and wailed inside of him _don’t don’t don’t._ “I know how to stop this. I think I can fix things.”

“What do you mean?”

Merlin opened his mouth, ready to answer, but _oh_ his face looks so hopeful, so ready to accept whatever Merlin has to say. His magic shrunk even deeper into him, shying away. “The fits,” he explained. “I know what’s causing them. I think I can make them stop.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide and he adjusted himself to face Merlin more. “How?” He looked so happy, so hopeful.  

Merlin wanted so very much to tell him, to blurt out his secret, to let all of the pent up energy inside of him flow, but his magic was so used to hiding, to being scared, to being afraid of Arthur that it clenched up inside of him, and he froze, staring wide eyed in shock.

It brought him to the ground, Arthur frantically grabbing at him, pleading, “No, no, no, no, no . . .”

Arthur held him loosely, falling to the floor with him, being sure to keep him on his side. Merlin grunted and gurgled and slobbered onto Arthur’s sleeve, hitting and grabbing at him. His legs kicked lamely about, knees locked and ankles knocking together. A stray hand grasped at Arthur’s arm, gripping it tight, nails digging into his flesh.

Merlin’s face went red and Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. “Come on, Merlin,” he urged, trying to get the boy to spit up whatever was blocking his airway. He made a few distorted, strangled noises before he began to take large, wet breaths, spittle flying and dribbling out of the corners of his mouth. His eyes were round and scared as he bent his head into Arthur’s chest, still batting at him with all his might. Tears began to fall from Arthur’s eyes, hating to see his dearest friend in such a state.

Eventually, Merlin’s eyes rolled back and he became even more violent, head whipping around as Arthur watched his blurred features twitch. He stopped breathing again, but Arthur couldn’t get Merlin to turn, couldn’t pry open his mouth and stop him from swallowing his own tongue. His back was arching and Arthur had trouble keeping his head from banging into the floor. He let go of Arthur, bruising his knuckles as they thrashed around.

Just when Arthur thought that all was lost, that Merlin’s face was going to turn purple, that his heart would give out from the strain of the fit, he stilled, spat out a wad of phlegm and moaned.

“That’s it, Merlin, _breathe.”_

For once, Merlin obeyed, groaning and huffing into Arthur’s middle. His eyes were wide, looking wildly around the room, and his breath was ragged, racking his body with more tremors and spasms. Still ensnared in his fit, his mission preserved in his mind. He tried to force himself to come back, to think and speak properly. But _oh_ it hurt and he sobbed into Arthur, trying to remember how to make the words he needed, but the chairs wouldn’t stop swaying and the ceiling was getting farther and farther away and Arthur’s face kept changing. He blinked hard, trying to clear his mind, to find himself within the mess inside his head. Then, somewhere in his dreams, he remembered a few important words.

“I have magic,” he cried, but it was weak and it was slurred. It sounded as though he were speaking in another tongue and Arthur had only vaguely known the meaning of it. “It’s my magic,” he said again, and spit was still dripping down his chin and Arthur was still struggling to keep his head from smashing into the floor.

“Merlin, don’t,” Arthur warned. “You’re tongue is loose, Merlin. Wait.”

“I _can’t,”_ Merlin moaned and he fell into a series of hiccuping sobs. “It _hurts._ I can’t stop it. Can’t stop. Arthur! Please, it hurts . . . too much. There’s too much . . .”

“What do I do?” Arthur asked frantically. His mind was racing and his cheeks were wet and flushed.

And Merlin wanted to laugh and to cry and thank the gods that he was still alive, but his eyes were glazed over and he was finding it more and more necessary to focus on remembering how to breathe. And so he stayed there and he sunk into Arthur until his heart stopped fluttering and his eyes fell closed.

 

George walked in with his chin up and his eyes stern. For once in his life, however, he staggered, eyes going wide with shock. Before him was an ill faring Merlin in the lap of a woeful king. “Go!” he shouted at him. “Get Gaius!”

“Yes. Yes, s-sire!” he said, stammering and unsure. Arthur watched him leave and stared at the door long after it was shut behind the servant.

Oh so slowly, he maneuvered Merlin off of him and clambered to his feet. Trying to keep his breathing under control and dangerous thoughts from his mind, he hefted the invalid into his arms and laid him out on the bed.

Gaius arrived to find Arthur standing over the bed, eyes red and hands trembling. He looked up at the physician, his despair painfully evident on his face. Gaius sighed wearily.

“So you know then,” Arthur acknowledged.

“I do, sire.”

“You could have stopped this?”

“No,” the old man admitted. “Only Merlin can do that, sire. He came here to right things.”

Arthur looked down at his gaunt, sleeping face. “Magic corrupts. It’s doing this to him.”

“No,” Gaius corrected. “Merlin was born with magic. It is a part of his every being.”

“Then why?” Arthur questioned, his voice cracking. “This is killing him, Gaius.”

“Merlin is made of magic. As he grows, his magic becomes stronger. It is becoming more difficult for him to contain. He has been suppressing his gifts for so long now that all of that power has begun to build up. This”--he gestured to the figure on the bed--“is what happens when that power releases itself, forces its way through.”

“If he was born like this,” Arthur said, and he struggled to hold his composure, “then why come to Camelot?”

“Back then,” Gaius explained, “his powers were not as strong but they were still extraordinary and unpredictable. He didn’t know a single spell and yet he was able to stop time with naught but a thought. It frightened him and his mother. So she sent him to me. I assume you know that I had once openly practiced magic.”

“Yes,” Arthur said solemnly. “Geoffrey mentioned once that you were a healer. I suppose in some ways you still are.”

Gaius bowed his head. “Only when the situation is dire. Nowadays, however, that role tends to fall to Merlin. That is, if he isn’t the one on the patient’s bed.”

They both looked down at Merlin’s slumbering form, looking very small on the plump, luxurious bed.

“How do I help him? How do I stop this?” Arthur pled.

“First, sire,” Gaius said, “you must decide what you intend to do with him.”

“What?” Arthur looked up, eyes swimming with hurt and disgust.

“With all your respect, sire,” Gaius continued, “your father’s laws still stand. Merlin is meant to be tried for treachery. It is your decision what his sentence is.”

Arthur stared back at him and, for a moment, he saw Merlin not as the friend he had known better than anybody for countless years, but a faceless stranger, dabbling in dangerous sorcery. He shook those thoughts from his mind, however. Something told him that, even if he did think that Merlin was evil, there would be more than just Gaius’s disapproving eyebrow to stand in his way.

“I can’t . . .” He tried to put his feelings into words, but chest was heavy with his pounding heart, impossible to describe. “I need Merlin. He’s too important and Gaius . . . I think that I’ve known . . . I’ve known that magic wasn’t evil for some time now. I just . . . I couldn’t see it. There was no constant in my life that told me that it could be good. Even now, on the surface, it seems as though it’s doing harm to me, to Merlin. But it’s not. In fact, in this extreme circumstance, it seems that the _absence_ of magic is what harms us.”

Gaius smiled sadly. “You have had many people harm you, Arthur. Many of them had used magic . . . but many of them had also used a sword or a bow and that is the very weapon you wield. A person’s past can severely warp the way they see the world, but it is not that person’s fault as long as they try and wish to see the truth.”

“I do seek the truth,” Arthur declared. “I want Merlin to get well. And I want him to tell me everything.”

 

When Merlin awoke, he was shaking and his mind couldn’t seem to focus on a single thought. He could see Arthur beside his bed, coming closer, and his magic did somersaults. He tried to control his breathing but it wouldn’t stop coming in panicked gasped.

Suddenly, Arthur’s voice broke through the haze and he could feel his hot breath tickle his ear. He focused on it, let it absorb all of his attention. “Let go, Merlin,” he said calmly, soothingly. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. Let go.”

It took him a moment to realize what the words meant. He needed to let his magic thrive. But he couldn’t. “Can’t,” he choked out. “Scared . . . Hurts.”

“You can,” Arthur promised, and he sounded so sure. “Show me something. Anything.”

“Okay . . .”

Merlin’s fluttering eyes steadied and he looked up at Arthur, his gaze distant. Arthur watched as his iris flickered warily to a bright gold. The tension seemed to leave Merlin and he sighed, sinking into the mattress. As the light faded from his eyes, they slipped closed.

Arthur felt a warm presence take hold of the room and the white walls seemed to glow. Hot hands wrapped around his heart as Merlin’s breathing evened out. He drifted into a sound sleep, color returning to his features.

“You’re alright, Merlin,” Arthur whispered. He took a deep breath of relief. “Everything is going to be alright.”

 

And it was.


End file.
